Reflections of a Demon 2: Silk, Rain and Shadow
by Jainie Starr
Summary: Brian recalls the first romantic evening (of many) that he spent with Curt.


Reflections of a Demon 2:  
Silk, Rain and Shadow

He was always so graceful... unmindful grace, even when he didn't know he was being watched. Especially when he didn't know. 

We'd come back to the hotel after a night of partying, as was often our wont in those early days. Drink, smoke, laugh, talk... but we'd only ever talk to each other. When we were together, no one else was allowed in our little world. No one else ever dared trespass against the invisible boundaries of intimacy that we drew around us when we were together. 

It was all just for the two of us, in the beginning... and neither of us would have had it any other way. 

It wasn't that we purposefully blocked everyone else out... no, for us, it was more like everyone else seemed to melt away into the background. The minute he stepped into a room, my eyes would be drawn to where he stood. It was the same for him, when I would make my way through a crowd and link my arm with his. We just couldn't see anyone else but each other. 

We were both so handsome. He was so much more... masculine and strapping than I -- our bodies were very different. Yet they fit together so nicely. He was pure, wiry sinew and toned muscles where I had soft, supple curves. He was, in all ways, more athletic than I had ever been, or had preferred to be, in my life. 

I made certain that Mandy saw me as I disentangled myself from the melee of bodies and crossed the room, made certain to turn back and catch her eye. I must have stared at her for at least a minute, maybe two... I had to look into her eyes before I left. Something inside compelled me to do it. Just once, that was all I wanted, all I needed. She had to know what I was going to do as soon as I stepped through that door. Our marriage had always been an open one and both of us enjoyed the freedoms that our mutual, progressive decision afforded us... but there were rules. Rules we both agreed on and rules that we both had to heed, regardless of the situation. If, by some chance, either of us were to meet someone we wanted to take to bed, before leaving with our new playmate, we were to make certain to let the other know that we were going -- either with a verbal intimation or physical signal of some sort. 

She felt the weight of my gaze, drew back from the curvaceous young groupie she'd been snogging and rolled over on to her stomach. Her glazed eyes flitted over the bodies strewn haphazardly about the room and finally settled on me. I'm almost sure that she saw me -- she looked directly at me -- but then again, she'd been at the party favors quite heavily over the course of the evening and probably wouldn't have recognized her own reflection if she saw it in a mirror, let alone her own husband's face. It would have to suffice. I was too anxious to wait any longer. So I turned, stepped through the door and went in search of Curt. 

Jerry had paid for a whole floor of the hotel to house us -- assistants, my wardrobe, hair and makeup people, various other lackeys, groupies and hangers-on -- just one room was expensive enough, in this place, but a whole floor? It seemed almost too extravagant, at first, but then I just went along with it. "The secret of becoming a star is knowing how to behave like one," Jerry constantly reminded me. It didn't matter that we barely had enough money between us to pay for a cup of their outrageously-priced room service coffee. Jerry seemed to know what he was doing and he had faith in me -- he was convinced I'd blow their doors off and become a success the likes of which the world had never seen before. I didn't know about that; all I could do was hope that Jerry's instincts about me were right and that we wouldn't get nicked for failing to pay for our rooms. 

I padded my way down the hall toward Curt's room -- the hallway was filled with an eerie, almost exaggerated silence; if I hadn't known any better, I would have guessed that the quiet had been piped in -- save for the occasional moan or whimper leaking out from under a door. The only other sound I could hear was that of my bare feet scuffing along the short, stubbly nap of the hall carpeting. 

There were four rooms for Curt and his three band mates at the end of the hall; two adjoining rooms on either side of the hall, directly across from each other. Curt's was on the right side of the hall, right next to a lone window that gave one a lovely view of the car park. 

A single, pencil-thin shaft of soft, blue-white light from the door to Curt's room streamed into the hall and intermingled with the light coming from the window to pool on the carpet -- dust motes bobbed and drifted about lazily on the currents of air. The door sat slightly ajar and that small crack through which the light slipped -- and the thought of what might lay beyond it -- drew me to it. 

And suddenly, there was no sound -- not that of my feet moving along the carpet, or even my own breath. Just the continuous, throbbing drum of my pulse. I reached out a hand and pressed my fingertips against the door, silently willing myself to keep calm. But as I slowly pushed the door open inch by inch, my heart seemed to pound double-time, threatening to break free from my body. There he was... just across the room, just a few feet away. It would have taken all of five seconds to cross over to him, to go to him, yet it felt as if my feet had been nailed to the floor. 

The heavy embroidered curtains covering one window had been drawn back and Curt stood slouched by the window, leaning against the frame. The bottle of whiskey he'd picked up from the mantel on his way out sat on the sill in front of him as he stared out the window, face bathed with pale blue light. Something about the light that flowed over his skin made it seem all that much softer; he almost seemed to glow. Curt shook his hair out of his eyes, left arm settling along the curve of his torso, the light pouring in through the window casting the line of his form in soft, velvety dark relief. 

I unbuttoned my shirt, slipped it off and draped it over the back of a chair as I crossed over to the window. It had been raining most of the evening -- which was why we'd all decided to stay in and have a little sleepover, as it were -- and I could still hear the rain pattering against the panes as I drew closer. Curt straightened, standing on his own two feet to face the window squarely, arms hanging at his sides, and for a moment, I hesitated. 

In all that time, he'd never said a word. He must have been waiting for me to make the next move, since he'd already made the first one in my room down the hall -- that look he'd given me. I slipped up behind him quietly, my breath a tight, stubborn knot in my throat. Our bodies were only a few inches away, but I could feel the heat of his body as if it were a living thing reaching out and touching me, caressing me. 

I peeked over Curt's shoulder out the window and saw that the light was coming from a street lamp on the corner. The light shone through the panes and the rivulets of rain that had slipped down the glass, casting shadows of raindrops throughout the room. I glanced down and noticed that one of these same shadows had fallen on Curt's left shoulder, along the sweeping curve of his collarbone. I reached around and, with just the tip of my middle finger, traced the journey of this dark raindrop over Curt's skin. The smooth, relaxed line of his shoulders tensed ever so slightly and, through just that one tiny point of contact, I could feel a shiver go through him. 

"Took you long enough," Curt said, his voice a low, husky whisper. On stage, that voice had enough raw power to pin you to your seat and rip you to shreds, but in person, it was a deliberate, smoky purr that could drive you completely mad. "Didn't think you'd come." 

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" I asked wistfully as another raindrop splashed against the windowpane. The shadow appeared on the curve of his shoulder, slithered down his front and out of sight. I dragged my tongue over the phantom raindrop as if I were trying to lap up the stained light, the saltiness of his skin biting at my tongue. He let out a soft moan and let his head loll back on his shoulders. I cradled his head gently in my right hand -- a warm, comfortable weight against my palm. 

"No," he murmured. "You're the beautiful one, remember?" There was no bitterness in his tone, only sincerity. 

"Not tonight," I whispered, lips brushing his skin as I caught another shadow, this time at the base of his throat. 

I latched my lips onto the spot and suckled at the sensitive skin, as if I were trying to capture the raindrop's moisture. Curt exhaled a harsh, broken breath, both hands reaching up and back to thread through my hair. My hands roamed freely over his front; I took my time and stroked each taut muscle under my hands, letting my fingertips glide over his nipples and having to tamp down a surge of satisfaction when they hardened eagerly at my light touch. Finally, I pressed myself full-length against his back, sliding both arms around his chest and pulling him back against me. Curt let out a strangled groan as he pitched forward, bracing his weight with his hands on either side of the window frame. 

Still I clung to him, refusing to let him go, even for a moment. My fingers brushed aside the auburn hair that curled almost to his shoulders and held it out of the way as I pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck. Curt shuddered again as I continued to kiss my way down his spine, gripping his hips with both hands; deep, hungry kisses using my tongue and teeth -- nipping, licking, sucking, soothing -- as I lowered myself to my knees behind him. 

My eyes slowly worked their way up Curt's body, from head to toe, at an almost leisurely pace. The faded, dusky blue light washed over his bowed head, flowing between his shoulder blades and down his spine. It highlighted the muscles of his back as they flexed and rolled against one another, tapered off and dissolved into shadow when it reached the middle of his back. It was then that Curt glanced over his shoulder, gazing down at me, and smiled... an utterly wicked, knowing, bewitching curl of a smile that made my insides ache. 

I had never seen anything more beautiful or primal in all my life. 

The End. 


End file.
